


The Rookery

by JadeCitrus



Category: Assassin's Creed, Assassin's Creed Syndicate - Fandom
Genre: Gen, M/M, Other, POV Second Person, Reader Insert, Trans Male Character, Trans Male Reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 00:10:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14800572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeCitrus/pseuds/JadeCitrus
Summary: A series of Jacob Frye/Reader drabbles that will vary in rating, all celebrating trans male and gender-neutral readers. You can pry Jacob Frye's canon bisexuality from my cold, dead, queer hands. All possible warnings will be disclosed before every chapter in the notes.





	The Rookery

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter involves a trans male reader specifically. There's a single, brief mention of having a menstrual cycle, and a brief case of misgendering. I stress the word "brief", I promise it's quickly resolved.

**J** oining the Rooks had always just made sense.  They were fighting for what was right, and you were exactly the kind of able-bodied individual with a skewed sense of morals that the Frye twins were looking for.

That _Jacob_ was looking for, specifically.

But gang, syndicate, or otherwise; they felt like the family someone like you never had. A spot of green on the street was the only indicator you needed to know that you were never alone. The Rooks were a tight-knit bunch, and yet, one could go weeks without meeting all of them, especially with their numbers swelling with the increase in territory.

But every Rook had met Jacob at least once.

The first time you met Jacob, it was at a pub in Whitechapel. You had gotten into a scrap with a Blighter twice your size ( _at the very least! The bloody gibface was massive!”_ ) And had taken him down all on your own. You even had the gumption to keep on fighting when more Blighters showed up, and by that point a few Rooks had swooped in to back up their own, too. Afterwards, your fellow Rooks insisted that you come to the pub for a drink, and who were you to pass up a pint? You sport your fresh bruises proudly, giddy and half-rats with all of the drinks that had been bought in your honor.  
You were recounting the tale for a few Rooks that hadn’t heard it just yet, though the story had reached butter upon bacon with how inflated your ego had gotten that evening. You felt eyes upon you, but it didn’t ruffle you all that much - you’d been the center of attention since the Rooks had dropped in earlier that night - what was another set of eyes?

It wasn’t until you stepped outside for some “fresh air” a bit later that Jacob had approached you. You were struggling to strike a match when someone offered you a light. You thought nothing of it, giving a grunt in assent as you puffed the tobacco to ensure your cigarette was lit, before leaning back to take a proper inhale.  
You nearly choked on your “cheers” when your addled mind recognized Jacob’s hazy visage standing before you. You coughed up the smoke in your lungs, much to your boss’s amusement.

_“Come on, now.”_ Jacob had laughed, clapping you on the back a few times. _“It’d be an absolute shame if I lost one of my best to a small fright.”_ You were elated. One of his _best!_ You very well could have caught your death the next day and would have died happy. Even if he hadn’t meant it, even if he was just stroking your already inflated ego, it had meant the world to you.

It felt like you started seeing him more after that, or maybe you just started to notice him more? He took to calling you “Magpie”, because he could always count on you to swoop in for a fight (you called him a “stuffed bird” in response, but his nickname stuck a little bit better.)  
You fought well together; knowing that you didn’t need to watch your back if the other was there.

 

The second time you met Jacob - without “business” to serve as pretense for bumping into one another - you were in a sour mood (which could be attributed to your monthly), and were fully intent on drowning your feelings and cramps in ale.  
The pub was already crawling with other Rooks and various regulars when you had arrived that evening, and you were quite eager to dissolve into the sea of faces. You weren’t halfway through your first pint before a shoulder had bumped yours, sending a splash of ale down your front. You were exhausted, and didn’t possess the energy to do much about it aside from grumble and shed your jacket so you wouldn’t reek of booze, a bit more upset over the slight loss than the incident itself.  
Regardless, you downed the rest of it before ordering another, slipping away from the bar proper as to reduce the risk of your second pint joining the first.

_“I can’t say I know many women who can put a pint back quite like that.”_ Jacob hadn’t snuck up on you, but you had physically jerked at his words then, your entire face set in a frown.

**_“I’m no woman.”_ ** You had hissed, catching Jacob off guard with the initial heat behind your rebuttal. _“Though I’m sure it does take a special sort to spill half a’ pint on ‘emself.”_ You grumbled, unable to look at Jacob out of both embarrassment and anxiety.  
It wasn’t his fault, you told yourself. This had happened plenty of times before now, and would likely happen for the rest of your life. You didn’t always correct people, either, knowing well enough when to pick your battles by now.  
But there was something painful about specifically Jacob calling you a woman. You didn’t want him to think you’re a loon, but you also didn’t want him thinking of you as something that you’re not.

You had little time to process anything between your ale being pried from your grasp and Jacob dumping it on himself. The pub was momentarily stunned into a silence, before bursting into uproarious laughter at Jacob’s expense. He took a dramatic bow, removing his top hat for dramatic effect, though his own shoulders shook with poorly disguised laughter.  

_“Are you batty?!”_ You had managed through your own laughter, incapable of staying mad with the turn in events.

Jacob looked at you like a madman, all smiles, covered in cheap ale, blushing up to the tips of his ears. _“A probable diagnosis, but at least now I look about as silly as I feel. Think you could forgive a fool like me?”_

You were still giggling quite a bit, but extended a hand to give his a firm shake. _“Only if you buy me another pint, Frye.”_

_“Good man.”_  
He bought your next pint, in addition to the three that followed, the rest of the night being spent with the two of you enjoying the other’s company.

Jacob never pressed you for further details; not that night, not the next time you saw one another.  
Never.  
Perhaps you were imagining things, but it felt like you were being called “sir” significantly more after that, too. You hadn’t realized how much of a burden had been lifted off your shoulders until then, your confidence and mood bolstered with such a small, yet frequent act of validation.  

* * *

_"I want to introduce you to someone.”_

It was out of the blue.  
Jacob extended the invitation while wiping fresh blood off his brass knuckles, like nothing was amiss in the timing whatsoever. It suited him.  
You agreed, of course, expecting said meeting to happen at a later date, but Jacob didn’t feel it was necessary to imply that he was thinking about the more immediate future. As in he wanted you to introduce you to someone right at that moment.

The evening proved to be one full of surprises.

Ned Wynert wasn’t someone you ever expected to meet. For a few reasons. Most of the Rooks, yourself included, were nothing more than muscle. You rarely had a purpose aside from “go here” and “beat up this bunch”, occasionally “get this from here to there.” You couldn’t say that you had ever dealt with business that wasn’t just “business.”  
You also never would have expected to meet someone like you, another man like you. It appeared to be a surreal experience for Ned as well; but it was another small affirmation of yourself and your identity that you never thought you would get. A kinship with another person you never thought you’d find.  
Jacob seemed to recognize this and kept quiet as a doormouse the entire time, absolutely content to sit back and fondly watch the animated conversation spark between you and Ned.

The first time you kissed Jacob Frye was a few small moments after meeting Ned Wynert. It was impulsive, and stupid, and sloppy, and _worth it;_ your hands framing his face while he was in the middle of saying something you never heard with your heart loudly thudding in your ears as you fixed him with a bruising kiss that spoke volumes louder than “thank you” ever could.

Jacob looked winded when you pulled away, a rare sight from a man who could run halfway across the city of London without breaking a sweat. But he slowly broke into a smile that gave way to an almost drunk giggle. _“Did I ever tell you that you have quite a mouth on you?”_

The second time you kissed Jacob Frye was to shut him up.

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Please comment with requests, ideas, and things you wanna see, and I'll hopefully get around to it! Constructive criticism is appreciated! This is beta-read, but I am also unintentionally wordy, so let me know if you think something needs fixing, too! I hope you enjoyed this, if you wanna see more, *please* let me know!


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